I, self-pity, am no more
by ttbio
Summary: Conner has reached his breaking point. It's time he stood up for himself.


It finally happened.

They were all looking at him now, pitying him. Some looked away, almost ashamed, others simply stared. Anger, disappointment and regret flit across their faces clear as daylight. Conner clenched his fists. His heart thumped wildly in his chest and his breathing was laboured. He could feel beads of sweat seep across his harline, trickle at his temples before disappearing over the arches of his ears. His eyes remained tightly closed and small, bright spots seemed to crop up in the darkness. A tightness that he was not aware of before came sweeping across his forehead, compressing his sides and pounding, pounding steadily with such force that he felt himself sway where he stood shakily. He could hear ringing in his ears as they seemed to burn voluntarily of shame, that once again, he had let everyone down. In his anger, he'd made a mess of things. His skin across the base of his neck flushed angrily. The headache grew more intense, his ribcage was close to bursting and a cloak of doom, dark, uncompromising and greedy hovered over him, suffocating and choking, thick and smothering.

And stop.

It was as though a ripping motion had cleaved him in two. He felt as though he had taken a step forward and _peeled_ himself away from his skin, his body. It felt motionless, yet tiring at the same time. He felt as though he was looking at himself in the bright, airy room, stared at by his team mates and most humiliating of all, the big 7. The Justice League. In from of _him._ His justice league looked so damn scared, so helpless, and yet so disappointed he would have melted on the spot if possible. Even Robin looked sad. Robin, bright and cheerful, quick to please, always seeing good, had looked away. Robin who had never coddled him per say, but treated him as an equal, a friend, one who deliberately sought him out even in the mist of his flaring temper, was now standing awkwardly, his body angled away from him, his jaw set and his eyes cutting. Conner felt his stomach drop. The only true friend he had made on this strange team now couldn't even look him in the eye. He had heard the whispers, the hushed tones, the quick, daring glances and ducking when he walked past. He saw lowered eyes and heartbeats quicken whenever he was nearby. _That's him,_ they said. _Superboy is what they call him…his clone._ Conner had tried so hard, desperately even to block out their voices. It didn't help he could hear the small denting sounds made by the feet of colony ants all the way in India. At times, he caught a whiff of the onions frying in the small mexican foodcart beside the news stand outside Wallman and Co, Fifth St. He didn't _know_ how to tune all these confusing sounds out properly. Most of the time he managed to ignore the blaring in his ears but even then, they were still relegated to background noise, always present, always there.

But no matter how hard he tried, Conner always heard them, the voices. _Look at him, he's always so angry, cold….Trying so hard to get Superman's attention, what a wuss. Damn pathetic if you ask me. Poor superman, having to deal with a son he never wanted, one created to destroy him in fact! Even his name is a joke…superboy! It's practically an insult to Superman! He's unsocial, hardly smiles, has not an ounce of charisma… just a brick wall with powers really. All muscle, no brain._ Conner always heard. Whether he was finishing up in the training room, taking a stroll in the gardens, trying to fight the bad guys or simply helping himself to a sandwich in the cafeteria, he heard. He felt their eyes on him, saw how hastily they moved away from him in the corridors and tried to conceal it, poorly.

And now the Justice League were here. It was one thing to have his breakdown in front of his teammates. They were kind, understanding, and usually gave him space in hope of calming him down. But now _they_ were here. All of them. The big guys, the ones everyone feared and awed over and respected. They were here to see how badly he lost control, smashing everything in site. Metal groaned, wood splintered like toothpicks and walls became cheese as Conner's rampage took hold. The French windows that would open to reveal the breathtaking mountainside now lay scattered across the floor like confetti. The TV had sailed right out and hadn't been heard since. The walls, even as strong and as sturdy as they were cowered beneath Conner's fury, giving away to large, irregular open passages that felt oddly comforting, as if inviting him to escape from the madness he had created. A small breeze teased his hair, wrinkling over his nose, before disappearing over his left shoulder. Mini craters decorated the floor and if he pressed down hard enough, he could feel the rough gravel of the mountainside. Maybe the earth could do him a favour and swallow him whole.

And still, Conner looked at himself, his physical body bent in part frustration, part hopelessness. Eyes still tightly closed, too afraid, too ashamed, guilt ridden, sick to his very bones. He'd done it this time. The room was too quiet. The looks on the faces of the founders left him hollow and empty and his could see the small shakes of their great and mighty heads. Superman of course stood with his arms folded, an unspoken 'I told you so' emanating off his frame. Conner could practically _see_ his thoughts. _See? I told you all, I said so over and over again yet you refused to listen! Now look! It's dangerous, a weapon of destruction. It is not human, not a boy, and therefore is not capable of distinguishing between right and wrong._ Superman was right to distance himself away. He saw what everyone either refused or were unwilling to. Rejected by the big blue himself. Even Lex was given second chances and yet here he was, rejected and spat out, cursed to wander alone and without purpose.

Conner didn't know what changed, but something did. He felt himself sucked back into his treacherous body, so wrong and yet so lost. The room seemed to shift, the atmosphere, though remained burdened and heavy, seem to strike him with a clarity so strong he felt sensation returning to his fingertips, his toes wriggling and his legs finally stop shaking. His breathing had slowed, his headache seemed to melt away. He felt his eardrums expand slightly, as if they too had decided to give way. His thoughts that had been racing, chewing him up and chastening him mercilessly seemed to calm themselves. He realised, quite startlingly, that he was counting. One, two, jump to four, a leap to eight, step down to six, dipping to five, a slap to three, two, one, one. He'd done it. Finally pushed them over the edge and there was no coming back this time. Slowly, carefully, Conner opened his eyes. He did not look up. His trainers were an odd colour, he suddenly noticed, a fading grey and cuffed white at the edges. He stared at them, wondering if they also would shrink back in fear. He half hoped they would speak to him, shout, scream, anything to fill the silence in the room that had become unbearable. His hands were trembling. He saw the large blue-green veins expand over his wrist and across the back of his hands like a spider, delighting in her prey. Caught, trapped, with nowhere to go and none to turn to.

Conner took a step back. Then another. A turn. His shoulders felt heavy and tired. His eyes seemed to sag with the weight of quiet sadness. Slowly, carefully, he walked to the entrance. For a moment, he imagined voices telling him to stay, to come back, that everything would be alright in the end. He imagined Superman's calm, quiet deep voice, soothing, and a heavy yet light hand placed on his shoulder in support. But no voices were heard. No hand were felt atop his shoulder. Conner knew, somehow, that things had changed. He took a breath and closed his eyes, only for a second.

Quietly, as gently as he could, Conner fled the room.


End file.
